


Kirschwasser

by backarapper



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Body Shots, John Watson - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, Kirschwasser, M/M, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, backarapper, cherry schnapps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 04:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backarapper/pseuds/backarapper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a trying day, John craves an evening alone with Sherlock and a nice drink or two... However unconventional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kirschwasser

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first work published to AO3! Please let me know what you think and everything.
> 
> Secondly, johnlock is my OTP. So most of what will go on here from me will be johnlock. :)
> 
> You can contact me on my tumblr: thegodswithoutmen.tumblr.com  
> My email: backarapper@hotmail.com  
> My fanfiction.net user is also backarapper. I would absolutely love any comments or recommendations.

"John, this is ridiculous. Just tell me what you're planning," Sherlock whined in an exasperated voice, arms hanging limply by his sides as John began to unbutton that perfect fitting, darkly contrasting, burgundy shirt. How he loved that shirt. 

John bit back the urge to roll his eyes, choosing instead to preoccupy himself with leaving tender kisses down the pale flesh as he exposed it. Delight filled John once he pushed the shirt off Sherlock's shoulders, exposing the pale expanse of his torso and he stopped for a moment, linking eyes with Sherlock. The man looked less enthralled. "Just shut up. You'll find out. For once, for bloody /once/ the table's been cleared off." John backed Sherlock into the table, gently pressing him down onto it with one hand against his chest. "And I'm going to take advantage of it. Don't move," John demanded, pointing a finger to punctuate the command before disappearing into the kitchen.

Sherlock sighed dramatically as he let his head loll to the side, one hand drumming an impatient rhythm on his stomach. After a second, Sherlock tucked his nonmoving hand beneath his head, listening to John bustle about the kitchen. "It would probably be a simpler affair if you turned on the lights," he called from the table with a smirk.

"Hush!" John hissed in retort as he walked back over to the table, bottle of cherry schnapps in one hand and a shot glass in the other.

Sherlock raised himself, propping the upper half of his body up on his forearms as he looked at John with questioning eyes. "John, I don't dri-"

"It's not for you," he murmured as he pressed Sherlock flat against the table. An eyebrow was quirked in John's direction as he uncapped the bottle and filled the shot glass halfway. "Now don't move."

Sherlock let his head fall back with a dramatic sigh. After a moment of waiting, Sherlock released a long groan of impatience but the sound was cut off by a sharp intake of breath. Cool liquid fell slowly onto his stomach, sliding down Sherlock's concave form to pool in his navel. He began to sit up. "What are you-"

"Don't." John interrupted with a growl, a hand pushing down on Sherlock's shoulder more insistently, stopping the man from getting up. Seconds felt like minutes to Sherlock, who did nothing but stare at the ceiling and question what the hell John was doing. After a while and a chuckle from John, Sherlock felt the sensation of John's lips, humming against the skin beneath his belly button.

John had positioned himself in a poise rather unconventional for a body shot: between Sherlock's knees and leaned over, delving into the small puddle of liquor.

The sensation of the man's tongue swirling around his navel drew a soft sound from Sherlock's throat, his hand going to grip John's shoulder as the doctor slurped, sucked and licked the alcohol out. "John wh-" he began to ask, but once he tried to speak, John sank his teeth into his flesh, earning an uncharacteristic whimper from Sherlock.

"Shush," John purred as he filled the glass again, and transferred the liquid to Sherlock's navel again. "I need a drink."

"From my stomach, John? I hardly think that's- ahh.." Sherlock was silenced when John dove down again, licking a broad stripe from the detective's hemline to the pool of schnapps before sucking the liquid out, making sure he caught any stray drops.

He rose up when he had gotten as much of it out as he could, staring at Sherlock intently as he licked over his lips with a grin. "Do you mind so much?" he asked with a soft laugh, supporting himself on either side of Sherlock's body.

In response, Sherlock slid his legs up and tightened them around John's waist. He chuckled as he felt himself being tugged to Sherlock. "Do it again," Sherlock demanded with his deep baritone, voice like velvet and sounding so off when asking for such a request.

Obliging him, John refilled the shot glass and very slowly let the liquid patter onto the man's stomach. He bent down and sucked it up, Sherlock writhing under him with a satisfied sigh, the sensation unique and new, but not unwanted. However, instead of going for another shot, John grabbed Sherlock by the arm and tugged him upright, kissing him strongly. John parted Sherlock's lips with his tongue, but it wasn't as if Sherlock wasn't pliant in this respect.

Sherlock felt the rush of warm liquid slip into his mouth and he swallowed it down, the alcohol burning down his throat and tasting strongly of bitter cherries. He pulled back from the kiss and glared at John, who laughed in response. "John, I don't drink," Sherlock reminded him, trying not to shift uncomfortably as a few stray drops in his navel that John had missed slid out and down his body, soaked up in the hemline.

"You do now," John said with humor in his tone, forcing Sherlock back down and bending over him to lap up what was left, not wanting to be wasteful. John swirled his thumbs into the creamy skin under Sherlock's pelvis bone, earning a wriggle from Sherlock as his skin pebbled with goosebumps.

After a moment, John's fingertips followed curve of his hip bones, sloping to meet at the cusp, but stopping at the waistband of his slacks. "You gorgeous man..." he complimented as he undid the button on Sherlock's trousers, moving down to pull down the zip on his fly with his teeth. He could feel Sherlock's growing arousal and the man writhed beneath him again with a small whimper.

"John, don't tease me, just-"

"Shush!" John hissed in a sibilant tone, his hands sliding torturously around Sherlock's growing need, moving down to squeeze his thighs. "If you want anything, stop talking. Let me feel." John grabbed Sherlock roughly by the hips, pulling the man against his own which forced a groan of frustration from Sherlock, who stretched his arms above his head languorously. Letting his hands roam the plan of Sherlock's torso, John nuzzled down and pressed warm kisses along the hem of Sherlock's pants.

Sherlock sighed as if daydreaming and arched his back into John's touch, craving more. Just as Sherlock was beginning to fall into the feel of it, John pulled his hands away and Sherlock uttered a sound of discontent until John's hands were hurriedly working Sherlock's trousers beyond his hips. John stepped back to take the article of clothing off of Sherlock's legs altogether. As soon as the army doctor had repositioned himself, Sherlock wrapped his long legs around him, dragging him in tightly.

John chuckled down at Sherlock, the man in nothing but his briefs and even then, the pants did next to nothing to hide his arousal from John. Hands pressed into either side of Sherlock's pelvis and slid him up to give John better access, but the man wasn't quite done teasing yet. He trailed feather light touches with his fingertips from the well-defined head of Sherlock's need down to the base; his victim's breathing laboring at record speed. No wonder Sherlock hated the teasing. He reacted so well to it.

Once he gave Sherlock a moment to gather his breath, John went down and pressed a kiss to the man's shaft before he licked a slow, hard trail through the fabric in the reverse path his fingertips took. With a shudder of breath, Sherlock whispered out John's name encouragingly and in response, John gave a few light strokes through the soft fabric before moving back again and doing away with the pants entirely.

John nestled his nose next to Sherlock's tumescent arousal, tilting his head to exhale warmly on the base as he trailed butterfly kisses along his hip bone. Sherlock whined his name urgently, twisting where he lay as goosebumps shuddered through him. "John, come on," he insisted sourly, desire thickening his voice.

"Say please." John lifted his head, hands sliding up to Sherlock's sides as he watched the man's face and waited for his request to be fulfilled. Even in the dark, lightless evening John could tell Sherlock was flushed a dark crimson, which felt so out of place.

After bucking his hips in a disturbingly graceful yet unsuccessful attempt to lure John to proceed, Sherlock waited, hesitating, no doubt. "...Please," he muttered quickly under his breath, earning a short laugh from John.

In response, because he was so kind, John wrapped his left hand around Sherlock, starting with gentle strokes at a fairly average pace, but he almost instantly escalated to a fast, hard pump. He switched again, adding more pressure as he slowed the movement to a crawl and constantly changed the way he worked over Sherlock's arousal, knowing the unpredictability drove the detective mad.

Mad enough to have him start to shout a very long string of curse words, all in French.

After spending a good long few minutes watching Sherlock writhe in languor, John leaned over him and slid his tongue over the head, drawing up a bittersweet drop of precome before suckling gently. Sherlock rolled his hips, a deep, embarrassing moan vibrating out of him.

John, in his approval, hummed against Sherlock as a reward, the sensation drawing another sound out of him.

Sherlock was mortified and chagrined somewhere deep down about releasing such sensual noises and being completely naked whilst John was fully clothed. However, the knot of heat in his lower stomach distracted him, the feeling of being pleasure-bombarded by John putting him into a sort of sensory overload since he could do nothing but lay there and hone his focus in on it. And, for one of the very few moments in his life, Sherlock was exposed in more ways than just one, and was completely okay with it. This was John. Of course it's okay.

His thought process was interrupted as he tried (unsuccessfully) to bite back another moan as John drew him in deeper, experimenting with the suction to find the right combination with the pressure he was putting.

Another few minutes of this became too much for Sherlock to handle and he slid a hand to John, carding a hand through his blonde strands. Quickly, Sherlock knotted his fist into John's hair and tugged up. John took the hint, parting from Sherlock's member as the man tensed, his body pulling John close as the doctor pumped Sherlock until he came with a stuttered cry of John's name, stroking a few more times as Sherlock rode out the orgasm. He leaned down to press a kiss onto Sherlock's hip, uttering "very good" teasingly for good measure. Sherlock flushed darker and bit back a cynical quip.

John's own neglected arousal strained hard against his zip and in turn against the edge of the table and John groaned very audibly as he watched Sherlock unravel by his hand, wanting nothing more than to finish off himself. As a matter of fact, he began to reach when Sherlock grasped his wrist. "Thirteen minutes," he purred with a demanding undertone.

John paused. "What?"

"Last timed refractory period was twelve minutes and forty-seven seconds. Do keep up," he growled as he struggled to sit up then found himself too disoriented to do so at the moment. He flopped back onto the table lifelessly. "Go get me a towel."

Nodding with obediently, John screwed the cap on the bottle of schnapps and grabbed the shot glass before disappearing into the kitchen. "So, your refractory period?" John called with a question in his voice as he put the items on the counter and grabbed a towel. He waited for Sherlock's explanation.

Sherlock took a moment to huff, catching his breath. "Yes. Then we can take care of that properly in your room."

"My room?" John asked with amusement as he tossed a cloth towel onto Sherlock. John found it a lot easier to give in to Sherlock's request to hold off if it promised reward.

He proceeded to wipe himself clean, looking down at the ejaculate with disgust. He really didn't like being dirty. However, Sherlock clearly didn't mind feeling it. "I can assume you have a plethora of condoms and lubricant," he explained as he turned to look at John with a devious smile. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to handle things the way you planned originally."

"No, this plan sounds swell," John laughed as he tugged off his jumper, followed by his t-shirt. He began towards the stairs. "I'll be waiting for you, then."

"Don't start without me, John."

"No guarantees," he chuckled in response.

Sherlock hummed his agreement as he finally sat up from where he lay, supporting himself on his forearms. "I think I like schnapps now, by the way." he called to the door as it shut behind John and he could hear the laugher muffled by the wood.

Sherlock fell back onto the table, tossing the rag in his hand to the floor carelessly as he took a moment to recover some. But the prospect of John ready for him upstairs was incredibly enticing, and thinking about him starting without Sherlock got him going. After another minute of torturous waiting, Sherlock bounded up the stairs after John for the evening.


End file.
